


I Miss You

by Anonymous



Category: Carry On Series - Rainbow Rowell
Genre: Cute, Hurt/Comfort, IDK what else to tell you, Kissing, M/M, Slash, drunk
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2020-06-21
Updated: 2020-06-21
Packaged: 2021-03-04 09:00:58
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 5
Words: 6,746
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/24847216
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/
Summary: Pre-Wayward Son-Simon didn't have a clue what happened. How he ruined it. He drifted through the living room, trying to find Baz. He went into the small kitchen, and he found Baz.He was slumped against a cabinet, with a suspiciously empty bottle sitting next to him. It smelled like a liquor store in there, and Simon had to try not to gag."He-ey Simon," Baz said slowly, slurring his words."Oh, Baz," Simon said, sighing. "You're a fucking mess, Basil."-Baz is really drunk, and Simon is home to help him. CUTE ALERT!
Relationships: Tyrannus Basilton "Baz" Pitch & Simon Snow, Tyrannus Basilton "Baz" Pitch/Simon Snow
Kudos: 32
Collections: Anonymous





	1. Chapter 1

Simon Snow was fucking upset. He didn't want to go to Agatha's house, and have dinner with her parents to celebrate Agatha coming home for the first time in months. They weren't together anymore. He was with Baz now. 

He had originally gone just because Penny was dragging him along, and after the first few hours of talking to Agatha, he decided that he'd rather be at home, with Baz, not talking even though Simon Snow was fucking tired of not really being with Baz. Simon was fucking miserable, they hadn't kissed in months, and it was doing things to him. He finally had a life, and he had finally gotten his shit together, and only to have to deal with his dying relationship with Baz. He had no damn clue how to fix it, although he was trying. It wasn't really working. 

He walked into their apartment. Back in the good old days, Baz would hear his keys in the door and basically pounce on Simon. He would pin him against the wall, and the would snog each other senseless. Oh, the good old days. The sad thing was that the "Good Old Days" were only a few months ago. Simon was starting to get a life again, and Baz was loving it. (Not that he didn't love Simon before.) Simon didn't have a clue what happened. How he ruined it. He drifted through the living room, trying to find Baz. He went into the small kitchen, and he found Baz. 

He was slumped against a cabinet, with a suspiciously empty bottle sitting next to him. It smelled like a liquor store in there, and Simon had to try not to gag. 

"He-ey Simon," Baz said slowly, slurring his words. 

"Oh, Baz," Simon said, sighing. "You're a fucking mess, Basil."

"Know," he simply replied. 

"C'mere, Si." Baz held his arms open, and he looked up at him with want in his grey eyes. Baz must be really hammered, he never shows his emotions. Simon hesitated, and Baz looked like he was about to fucking cry. 

Simon crawled over to Baz, and pulled him into his arms. Baz held onto him so tight that it hurt a little. (Baz didn't seem to be as aware of his super-strength while he was drunk, and it was strangely cute to Simon.) Simon buried his nose in Baz's hair, just because he could. He inhaled, and it smelled like the scent that was strangely Baz. They hadn't been this close to each other in months. Simon sighed, and enjoyed the feeling of holding Baz. 

"I've missed ya, Si." 

"I'm right here, you idiot."

"Ya know what I mean. I miss..." he stopped for a second, and then kept going. "Us." 


	2. Chapter 2

**SIMON**

Baz had grabbed onto my shirt, and was looking up at me with big, sad, eyes, and I couldn't handle it. "Oh, Baz." I spluttered, after a little bit. 

"Ya feel so far away, Si. 'S like 'm losing you. Lost you."

"Baz," I said, tilting his chin up and making sure that he was focused on me. When his eyes met mine, I tried to ignore the fact that my eyes were suddenly filled with moisture. His eyes were glassed over, and they looked scared and far away. And so, so, grey. "You won't ever lose me. You're kinda the only reason I stick around here. Ok, maybe you are the only reason I stick around here. Well, there's Penny, but you get the point." I took a deep breath, and kept going. "You won't lose me. Ever. I know some days I make it a bit hard to believe, but that's the truth. I love you, Baz." 

To my surprise, Baz started to laugh. "What's so funny?" I asked, because I didn't have a clue. "You," he stopped momentarily, to laugh. "I think... I think... that's the most you've ever said," he snorted. "Oh, shut up, you prick." I retorted, trying not to laugh. I had a sinking feeling that he might be right...

"We should get you into bed, Baz. You're absolutely fucked up." I stated it clearly, trying to make it have a ring of authority. "Ya takin' me to bed, Snow?" he said with a gigantic grin, although his eyes were still cloudy, like he couldn't focus. "I mean, I don't object," he said. 

Hopefully he's too far gone to remember this tomorrow, I thought. I'm going to miss this Baz, though. All soft, and a little uncensored. 

I tried to think of something to say to that, and I just decided to ignore it. "Come on, Baz. You're completely fucked." I said, moving to help him up. 

"So, does that mean that you're going to fuck me," he said, with a huge grin, "Or I'm just completely drunk?" I then heard him mutter, "Which I am..." 

I gave Baz an exasperated look, and started to help him up. Getting Baz up off the floor is a bit of challenge, because he’s absolutely fucking legless, all limbs and no grace – a stark contrast to his usual supernatural elegance. He’s got a good four inches on me, now, too, because apparently he’s a solid 6”2 and still growing, that fucker. I managed to haul him up after several attempts, hooking my hands under his arms and pulling him off the floor. Baz falls forward almost straight away, but I manage to get an arm around his waist before he hits the ground. Baz is laughing as he leans heavily against me, slinging an around my neck and clinging to my shoulders. 

I started walking towards our bedroom, and let me tell you, it's like doing a three legged race with the world's most uncoordinated, and drunk, vampire. I manage to get Baz on the bed without falling over completely. He pulls me down on top of him, and slots our lips together. I try not to gag as I pull away, he tastes fucking horrible. 

Baz’s face falls, then. I felt bad immediately, and I knew that I would do almost anything to get that look off of his face. (I'd draw the line at killing Penny, I think.) I can’t get anything right. Baz deserves better than me, I think. With that, I push my lips back to his, and he pulls me onto the bed. I am trying really hard not to gag now, he tastes the way nail polish remover smells. Bleck. Baz pushed his hand under my tee-shirt, and tries to pull it off. He's very uncoordinated, so I'm able to flip him over, and I'm on top of him. He gasps, and brings his lips back to mine. I slip my hand in between the buttons on his grey shirt, and pop the top two off. I hope he doesn't like this shirt... If he does, I'm in for it when he's sober. I don't think that will matter, I think with a laugh. I've about died of laughter, Baz is grinding his pelvis into mine, and he's a bit hard. Baz is still trying to pull my shirt off, and I don't mind. He still isn't managing it, though. He decided to switch gears, and was now trying to undo the button on my jeans. Still too hard for him... hah. I think I could use this to my advantage, he needs to put on some pyjamas. 

I pull off his shirt, which I have to admit is a bit of a challenge, because I can't focus on almost anything other than the fact that Baz is fucking grinding into me. Grinding. Into. Me. And the fact that I'm starting to get hard. He was past that a long time ago. It's a little strange to feel him on me, he's so hard.

I eventually manage to get his shirt off, but it's messy. I'm not really aiming, just slapping kisses onto his lips, and our tongues will tangle, and our teeth will clash, and then I'll pull away, and then we'll start all over again. Baz is so cold, and the world is so hot. It was tangible, and I loved it. He was the type of cold that I want to cover. I maybe should be more worried about the fact that I'm kissing a vampire while he's drunk, and he fact that our tongues are twisting together and his fangs could pop... then I'd be in for it. I also think Baz thinks that I'm going to fuck him. Don't get me wrong, I really want to, but I don't think that'd be fair to Baz, first off, he's still very, very, drunk, and second, I think he's still a virgin. (I'm not... Agatha and I had sex as a stress reliever, I think. There was a lot of stress to relieve... and that's the way we dealt with it. We'd go into the Mage's quarters, (He was almost never there during the night... I think he might have been doing the same thing as us, if I think about, which I don't want to.) and then I put her on the bed or the couch, or sometimes I'd even bend her over the counter or the Mage's desk...) I don't really want to take away his first time when he's this drunk, and I still don't know if he'd want this, if he was sober. It hurt to think about that, but almost everything hurts. It's a fact of life. 

Eventually, I pull my lips away, against my will. Baz makes a high pitched whine, and tries to pull me back onto him. I push against him, and since he's so uncoordinated at the moment, I win. I go dig around in the dresser, and try to find some pyjama pants. Baz is still whining, and I think that he's trying to get up off the bed, the poor bastard. I give up looking for Baz's pyjama pants, and just grab a pair of mine. They're red and white striped trousers, and when I bring them over to Baz, he looks disgusted by them. Well, at least he's retained his fashion sense, whilst being drunk. That's one thing. He might be sobering up a tiny bit. I pull off his black jeans, and Baz cooperates, to my surprise. When I look into his eyes, they're hooded with lust. 

Oh. 

He thinks that I'm finally going to fuck him. 

Oh, no. This is no good. 

I manage to choke out, "You're not sober, enough, Baz. I don't want to do this if you'll hate me in the morning. I wouldn't be able to bear that, I think." 

Baz is whining and whimpering, switching between the two. I feel bad for him, A. Because I've managed to get his pants on him, against his will, and B. He's now crying. Fucking. Crying. "You're killing me, Baz. You don't think that I want this? Of course I do, you fucking idiot. It's more you that I'm worried about." I wipe away his tears, and kiss his cheeks. 

"You... don't..." he sniffles, "want... me. " I sigh. "Oh, come on, Baz. I want to fuck you right fucking now. But, tomorrow morning, you'll hate me for it. If you can remember it." 

I think that makes him feel a teensy tiny bit better, and he sighs, laying down on the bed. 

I sigh, looking down at Baz, and then I walk over to the dresser we have in the room, and pull out a pair of grey sweatpants. I tug off my shirt, and then my pants, and then proceed to pull on my sweats. 

I go and sit down on the edge of the bed, and after a bit, Baz moves behind me, slumping against my back and propping his chin up over my shoulder. His skin is cold. (Baz is always cold, but it’s the kind of cold I want to cover). I twist my head, pushing my nose against his mess of dark hair. “If you throw up on me,” I warn, “I will kill you. I won't even hesitate. Because, after you throw up on me, I'll smell like liquor, and blood, among other things." 

“M not g’na throw up,” Baz says, but I don't really believe him. He ducks his head forward to kiss the mole against my collarbone, and slids his arms around my waist. He kisses along the line of my throat, clumsy but so, so gentle, and, for a moment, I tip head to the side to give him access – because it’s all so easy and familiar, so achingly tender that it almost hurts. Baz hasn’t touched me like this in what feels like forever; why can’t it be this easy when we’re both sober?

“C’mon, Baz,” I say, softly, but I don't make any move to pull away. Baz murmurs unintelligibly against my neck, and then mouths at the junction of my throat, teeth grazing the skin there. I realize that I'm probably a little bit crazy, because I’m letting a drunken vampire bite at my neck, but, whatever. I can’t bring myself to care. I trust Baz more than I trust anybody – more than I trust myself. Even when we’re fighting. Even when we’re barely talking. Baz starts sucking a mark underneath my jaw, and I don’t manage to swallow down the choked-off sound I make.

“Okay, Baz, enough, c’mon, bedtime,” I say, standing up and pushing Baz away. When I turn back around, Baz is watching me with possibly the fondest expression I’ve ever seen, like he really does love me. But this is Baz after almost an entire bottle of liquor – what if this isn’t really what he wants? What if this is just fleeting, like a shadow? I'm not sure I’d be able to handle it if Baz goes back to being distant and quiet again tomorrow morning.

I hesitate, for a moment, unsure of myself, but Baz catches me by the wrist and tugs me forward. “Come to bed, Si,” he mumbles, looking at me like I'm a complete idiot. (How does Baz manage to look so thoroughly unimpressed with me when he’s absolutely fucked? I'm starting to think that it might just be his resting expression). I go easily when he pulls, because I don’t really have any willpower, and I let Baz curl into me, pushing his face into the crook of my neck.

-

“I’m worried you don’t want me, anymore.” I say, very, very quietly, after several minutes of laying in the dark, listening to Baz breathe. Baz is still, for a moment, and he’s starting to think that maybe he fell asleep or he hadn’t heard, and that maybe it’s better that he hadn’t heard – but then Baz pushes himself up on his elbows, blinking at me, eyes wide and sad. I look up at the ceiling fan, and rub Baz’s back, so that I have something to do with my hands. “I used to be made of magic.” I whisper. “Now I’m nothing. A Normal. And I’m not even very good at being Normal.”

Baz scoffs, pushes himself up all the way. “You’re not nothing, Simon Snow.” He says, gripping my arm so hard that it’s starting to hurt. “You’re everything. My everything. I don’t... I don’t care about magic, Si. I would... give it all up. For you. In a fuckin’ heartbeat. All I want ‘s you, s’all I’ve ever wanted. Magic or no magic. Normal or not. Don’t you get it?” Baz says. I think that him being this drunk has affected his thought-to-speech flow, and he’s had a harder time articulating his thoughts. Or finishing them. Or even understanding what he was saying. It made him more human, strangely. 

I close his eyes, and I wish, not for the first time, that I still had magic so that I could cast one of Penny’s spells, make time stop, keep Baz here in my arms, in this moment, forever. Everything is easier in the dark, somehow. “I get it.” I say, and I do. I really do. But the doubt will always be there, the panic, the knowledge that Baz deserves better, and that he could realize that at any moment. I'm holding my entire world in my arms, right now, and I don’t have the first clue what I would do without him.

“Simon,” Baz murmurs, a slur still evident in his voice. He brushes his nose against the curve of my collarbone. “My Simon. Will you still be mine when I wake up?”

And that breaks my heart, just a little. (Maybe more than a little...) I think about the fact that Baz is worried, maybe even petrified, that he will wake up and maybe not remember this. That he won't ever get me back, and I'm just his for the night. It's enough to mess with my head. “Always.” I promise, taking Baz’s hand and squeezing it. “I promise, Baz. Always.”

Baz sighs, contentedly, dropping his head down against my chest, and, after a few minutes, his goes limp, his breathing evening out. I trace circles on his back, and them eventually nod off into an easy sleep.

( **A.N.** It's the first good night of sleep Simon's had in months, for your information.)


	3. Chapter 3

I was woken up by Baz moving around, and I looked over at him. He was moaning, and in a ball. I was suddenly alarmed, and I rolled over towards Baz and pushed myself up on an elbow. 

"Baz? Baz, are you okay?" I asked quietly, but you could hear the alarm in my voice. 

"Argh...my stomach, " he moaned. I had a quick flashback to earlier today, or late yesterday. I don't really know. 

I go and sit down on the edge of the bed, and after a bit, Baz moves behind me, slumping against my back and propping his chin up over my shoulder. His skin is cold. (Baz is always cold, but it’s the kind of cold I want to cover). I twist my head, pushing my nose against his mess of dark hair. “If you throw up on me,” I warn, “I will kill you. I won't even hesitate. Because, after you throw up on me, I'll smell like liquor, and blood, among other things." 

“M not g’na throw up,” Baz says, but I don't really believe him.

Well , looks like I'm right. I almost laughed, but then I remembered Baz. I got off the bed, and walked around to the other side. I gently slid my arms under him, and started to pick him up. He moaned louder, and I decided I better get into the bathroom pretty quickly. I tried to walk over without jostling Baz too much, but it was a real challenge because he was not light. I stumbled a bit, but I think that I did an okay job. I kicked open the bathroom door. 

The bathroom was small, there wasn't much room, and I almost didn't get Baz through the doorway, but I managed. I sat, or more laid, Baz down next to the toilet, and held him up. He was still moaning, and looked like he was going to pass out any second. 

Suddenly, Baz lurched up and pushed himself up over the toilet. I stood up, and pushed Baz's hair back with both of my hands. I tried not to look, because I wanted to not invade Baz's privacy more than I already had. When the sound was gone, I waited a bit, and then I flushed the toilet. Baz had fallen back against my chest, and melted into me. He was panting a bit, and his eyes were closed. I slipped my arms back under him, and started to stand up. It took a few tries to finally get up, but I managed. I brought Baz back to the bed, and laid him down. He pulled himself into a ball, and I pulled the sheets up over him. I leaned down and kissed his cheek. Baz was still moaning, but not nearly as loud as before. I walked past the living room and into the kitchen, and grabbed the toaster out of a cabinet. I started going through the motions of making toast, and when I finished I filled up a glass with water and brought it into Baz. 

“Baz?” I asked. I went over and sat next to him on the bed, and then said, “You should eat this toast. It’ll help absorb the alcohol in your stomach. And the water should help, too.”

Baz looked up at me, and I handed him the toast. He put a hand over his mouth, (Fucked, but still remembers to cover his fangs) and chewed. I had my arm around his shoulder, pulling him into me. When he finished, I handed him the water, and he took it, and slurped slowly. When he was finished, he handed the glass to me, and I set it on the nightstand next to the bed. Baz laid his head in my lap, and he was so cute... I don't have words for it. 

I picked up Baz, (barely) and laid his head on the pillow, and I laid next to him. (I had the left side of the bed, he had the right.) He pushed his face into the crook of my neck, and I wrapped myself around him. I laid there, awake, and then finally I said, "I was right. You did throw up." 

He then mumbled something around the lines of "Huh?", "Bloody Hell", "You were right, I guess", and a sound of exasperation, all while sounding like he hadn't slept in months. I found this somewhat funny, and had to choke down a laugh. We sat there, in the dark, again, and after a while Baz said something. "Thank you, for, um, helping me... I haven't felt this bad since... since... while I don't really know. I haven't really felt this good, either. I haven't slept in, God knows how long. I... it hurts, Simon, to see you closed off. Back when we were at Watford, you at least hated me. That showed some emotion. But now... it hurts, Simon." 

I was dumbfounded... I thought that Baz had been gearing himself up for breaking up with me. Instead, well, this was happening. I was also thinking about how Baz said that he hadn't been sleeping... and I tried to remember times within the last few months. I thought back to a time, when Baz had been slumped against the kitchen counter, holding his face in his hand. 

I woke up either so slowly or so quickly that I had no memory of it. I looked up, and there, in the kitchen, was Baz. He obviously wasn't aware of the fact that I was up, and he was holding his face in one of his hands, slumped against the counter. I studied him for a moment, and then looked away. 

And then another time, when Baz and I had been fighting. 

"Well what am I supposed to do?" I roared, standing a good 6 feet away from Baz. "I don't know what you want from me!" 

Baz looked at me, (and now that I'm looking back, I'm pretty sure that he was hurt, and panicked, and tired.) his eyes wide, and when I looked closely at his face there bags under his eyes, and his skin seemed more pale than normal. His skin was hanging off him, and he looked like he had been awake the whole night. Or not slept at all. 

"Baz, you haven't been SLEEPING!" I whisper-shouted. He tilted his face up, pupils blown and his eyes were wide and sad and filled with emotion. 

'I thought you knew that," he mumbled. 

"I fucking didn't! Why in Merlin's name haven't you told me?" I said, with an edge in my voice. 

"Well..." Baz seemed taken aback by my reaction. "We haven't been exactly talking for the last few months..."

"I was still your terrible, horrible, boyfriend!" I shouted. "Okay, promise me you'll tell me the next time something like this happens?"

"Okay, I promise," he mumbles. "I don't really think this is going to be an issue, if you keep letting me sleep on top of you. Even though it felt like someone was kicking my stomach, I slept for the first time Merlin knows how long." So, Baz still isn't completely sober, but he's gotten at least 20% better. 

"Come on, Baz. You know you can sleep all over me any fucking time you want," I promised. Baz made a contented sound, and then snuggled back into me. When his breathing even out, and his chest rose and fell slowly, I allowed myself drift into an easy sleep. 


	4. Chapter 4

**SIMON**

I woke up around six a.m., which is normal. 

When I woke up, I just laid there, not really thinking about anything in particular. 

And then last night came rushing back to me. 

I may have gasped, but I don't really know. 

Baz had been all soft and fucking adorable. He'd also been sad. He'd also said things that made me think there was still a chance for us. 

I'm not sure what to think of it. 

Should I keep being soft? Try and make things better? Or should I just excuse last night for Baz's drunkenness? I don't know what I should do. 

I want to fix things. Maybe I could. 

Yeah, lets go with that. 

When I opened my eyes, I saw that Baz and I's bodies were tangled.

His face was on my chest, his hair in my face. My left leg was underneath his body, and he was curled into me. I had my other leg lodged between his, and he was just all over me. 

He was cold, and I was warm. It was a good balance. (The heat bill was still atrocious, though.) (I sometimes got cold when Baz was all over me, and he just said that I was, and I quote, "His personal heater".) (I don't mind it, though.) 

I just let myself lay there, it's been awhile since I woke up like this, but eventually I had to haul myself out of bed. I was too hungry not to. Penny liked to joke that I was a bottomless pit. Ha bloody ha, Penny. 

I went out and made coffee, and some eggs. I also found some scones. (Not sour cherry, but they'll do.) 

When I'd finished my breakfast, I went back into our room and laid down next to Baz. He immediately pulled me closer, to my delight. 


	5. Chapter 5

**BAZ**

I wake up feeling like I've risen from the dead. I have a pounding headache, and my body is aching all over. Even though I haven't opened my eyes, everything already feels too bright. And too loud. (There's a fucking bird chirping.) (I now do not like birds.) (Fucking hangovers.) I try and block it out. I've already had enough of the world, and I've been awake for all of two minutes. 

You'd think being a vampire would cure hangovers, with the instant healing thingie, but noooooo. You still have fucking hangovers. When's the last time I had a hangover? Well...

I open my eyes, and instantly regret it. The sun is so fucking bright, and I didn't realize that it was burning me, just a little. I roll over, and run into Simon, and roll over again, clutching my head. I groan, and Simon seems to stir. 

"Morning, Basil." he says sleepily, yawning towards the end. "How ya feeling, sunshine?" 

I moan, and then say, "Oh, just fucking perfect." I roll towards him again, and throw an arm over my eyes. The bloody git has remembered to close the curtains, halfway. He hasn't done that in forever. The sun is definitely burning more than usual. But it still is bright as fuck in here. 

"Why the fuck is it so bright in here?" I say. Simon gives a small laugh, and pushes the hair out of my face. Again, he hasn't done that in forever. What's changed his behavior? 

Oh, fuck no.

Last night's events come rushing back to me in a blur. I can't remember them clearly at all. Well, I was pretty far gone. A bottle of liquor will do that to you. 

Well, if this is what I get for being drunk out of my fucking mind, I'll take it, I think. 

"So just great, then?" he says, his voice dripping heavy sarcasm. He's also fucking loud. 

"You're so fucking loud, Snow. Fucking hell. I feel like someone is fucking tap-dancing on my fucking scull."

Simon laughs again, but quieter, this time. His fingers reach out and brush my face. I lean into the touch immediately. I then proceed to grab his hand, and I push it against my face, willing him to keep it there. 

Well, pride be damned. Let's get straight to the point, I've already embarrassed myself more than was acceptable last night.

"Do ya want coffee?" Simon says. ( **A.N.** No pun intended) 

"I want death." I growl, and Simon starts smiling like an idiot. It's so cute that I have to look away. I don't actually look away, I pull a pillow over my face. “I want you to stake me through the fucking heart, Simon, and put me out of my misery. Go on, Snow, light me on fire, see if I give a single fuck.” I hesitate for a moment, and lift the pillow enough to glare at Simon, who’s looking at me with the one of the softest expressions I've ever seen. I soften, a little, at that, because how could I not? “Coffee would be good, too, I guess.” I say, tacking on a moan at the end. 

Simon looks at me for a second, and then he leans forward and kisses my forehead. Oh. My. Fucking. God. I think. When was the last time he did that? (Last night excused. He was just showing me sympathy.) 

Simon disappears, and I put a hand to my forehead. Maybe I'm dreaming, I think sullenly. Simon hasn’t been this soft with me in weeks, last night notwithstanding. Last night, despite admittedly being drunk out of my mind, my singular coherent, persistent thought was that I hoped to all the gods that Simon wouldn’t disappear back into himself the next morning. And maybe –well, maybe- he isn’t. Maybe this is the start of something. Maybe this is getting back on track.

Merlin, I fucking hope so. 

I've realized that all this moping and overthinking things is just making my headache worse, so I drag myself out of bed and head towards the kitchen. I feel queasy as all hell and thirsty enough that my gums are kind of aching, but I manage to make it to the kitchen. Simon is standing by the coffee machine. He's shirtless. (How did I not notice that earlier?) He hasn’t had a hair cut in a while, so his curls are longer than ever and tumble in his eyes when he bends his head, and they look almost golden in the soft glow of the morning’s sunlight. Everything about Simon is golden; bronze curls, tawny skin. I don’t deserve something as good as him, but I don’t care – I’ll cling to him for as long as I can, for as long as Simon will let me. (I'm selfish. Ask anyone.)

I hesitate in the doorway for a moment, uncertain, and then decide that I feel shitty enough that I deserve this. (Maybe something has changed. Maybe Simon won’t pull away). I wait for Simon to set the kettle down before I slide my arms around Simon’s waist, propping my chin up on his shoulder, and, to his credit, Simon only jumps a little. (The vampire-stealth scare is clearly starting to wear off, recently, which is unfortunate, because I really did used to like seeing Snow jump out of his skin every time I appeared out of nowhere). I'm freezing cold (because I'm always freezing cold), and even without all that magic burning up inside of him like a nuclear reactor, Simon still feels like a human radiator.

"Alright?” Simon asks, quietly, twisting his head to glance sideways at me, his mess of curls brushing against the side of my head. I just close my eyes, I'm enjoying this too much to answer him. 

"My head hurts,” I say, a little pathetically, because it really, really does. I pushes my nose into the crook of Simon’s neck. The room feels far too bright, and the sound of my own voice is giving me a fucking headache. “I regret so many things about last night,” he adds, and Simon tenses, at that, the muscles in his shoulders tightening. I pull backwards, realizing what he’s said, and I consider just shutting the fuck up and going back to bed – but I can’t quite manage it, so instead I catch Simon by the waist and pulls him around to face me. Simon won’t meet my eyes, staring resolutely at the ground, so I tip his chin up with gentle fingers underneath his jaw. “I regret a lot of things about last night,” I repeat. (Simon’s eyes are so, so blue). “Drinking almost an entire bottle of liqour and making an absolute tosser of myself, for example. And allowing you to pick out my pajamas. They’re hideous. I’m pretty sure these are yours.” I say, pointing down at them. A smile tugs at the corners of Simon’s mouth, so I'm taking that as a win. “But what I said. I meant it, Simon. I still mean it. You’re my everything. And I want you, okay? I’ve only ever wanted you, you ridiculous, gorgeous, idiotic fucker. So I’m yours. For as long as you’ll have me, Simon.” I feel exposed after saying that. 

Simon clears his throat, a pretty blush settling high on his cheekbones. I can practically see the cogs in his brain turning – Simon wears every emotion as clear as day across his face. He’s ridiculous. (But, fuck, I love him). “I’m, uh,” he starts, waving his hand, “not good with the. You know. Feelings. Talking. Not like you are. But all I know is everything is pretty much shit right now. Except you. And I, uh, I don’t know what I’d do without you.” I stifle a laugh, and Simon glares at me, despite his smile. “Shut up, Baz. What I’m trying to say is that I love you, even though you’re a complete dick. And although everything might stay shit, for a while, because I’m like, traumatized, or whatever, the only person I want by my side is you. So. Yeah.”

It’s ridiculous, how blasé Simon is about his trauma. Penny’s told me more than once that she thinks that he might be depressed. I have absolutely no idea how to deal with that, but, well, I'm willing to stick around and figure it out. (More than willing. Wild horses couldn’t drag me away). I want to tell him that, but the words get stuck in my throat. It’s fine. We have time.

“Good,” I say, instead. “You can’t get rid of me, Snow, I thought you’d have got that by now.”

“As long as you’re sure,” Simon says, a little doubtful.

“Crowley, Snow. Of course I’m sure, you moron. Are you being obtuse on purpose?” I set my hands on his shoulders, and I resist the urge to shake some goddamn sense into him. “I got an apartment with you, Simon. I let you leave your shit all over the floor. I let you steal my clothes. I let you starfish all over the bed and hog the blankets even though it’s annoying as fuck. I’m in this, Simon. No matter what. So you can stop waiting around for the other shoe to drop, because it isn’t going to.”

A smile tugs at the corners of his mouth. “Merlin, Baz, I forgot how dramatic you are.”

And just like that, the uncertainty disappears. It feels like there’s been this weight on my shoulders, like a ton of bricks balanced was between my shoulder blades, like I was fucking Atlas, the weight of the world on my shoulders. (Simon is my world. I’d carry that weight for him. I wouldn’t hesitate. My father would say that I'm a fool, that I’m soft. I don’t care.) But the weight is gone, now, however momentarily. I can breathe properly again, for the first time in a while. I move away from Simon, because if I'm kind of scared I’ll do something stupid if Simon keeps looking at me like that, like start crying, or something equally ridiculous. My shoes and jacket are still strewn over the floor, because apparently drunk Baz is just as bad as Simon, so I reach down to pick them up, lining my shoes up next to the door and throwing the discarded bottle in the bin. The smell of liquor makes my stomach churn; I'm definitely not going to be touching another drink for a good while, now. When I turn back, Simon is still watching me, impossibly fond.

“Why were you drinking alone, anyway? You never drink.”

I'm sure that if I wasn’t a vampire, I’d be flushed red right now. I roll my eyes, leaning past Simon to take the mug of coffee, mostly just so that I have something to do with hands. “I was. You know. I-” I start, and then stop, frowning into my coffee, because I can’t seem to find the words to string together. (Is this how Simon feels all the time?) I glance up, and Simon’s looking at me expectantly. I'm distracted, I can see the trail of faint red marks against the curve of Simon's shoulder, and it’s hugely distracting. (It’s taking every ounce of my self-restraint not to pounce on him.) “Merlin, Snow, don’t make me say it, it’ll only embarrass us both.”

Simon snorts, cradling his own mug against his chest. “Ha. I think we’re well past that point, Baz. You embarrassed yourself plenty last night.”

I smile, despite myself. (Simon is a complete moron, and, fuck, I love him so much). “Okay. Fine. I missed you, alright? I missed us. Crowley knows why, though, you’re annoying as fuck.”

Simon tips his head back and laughs, and there’s this tender ache somewhere behind my ribs, because he looks so, so beautiful. (His eyes are just so blue). So I lean down and kiss him, because for the first time in a long time, I'm not worried that Simon will pull away – and he doesn’t. Instead he sets his mug down and reaches up to loop his arms around my neck and pulls me closer, fingers threading through my hair. Simon kisses me tenderly, all gentle pressure and careful movements, like I'm something fragile, something important. (I feel a little bit more human, then, just for a minute.)

“Still annoying as fuck?” Simon grins, as he pulls back. He’s dragging his thumb over the space just behind my ear, and it’s making it hugely difficult to focus.

“Always, Snow,” I murmur, dropping my forehead against Simon’s.

“Go take a shower, Basil, you’re disgusting.” Simon laughs, shoving at my shoulder.

I raise an eyebrow, pressing my fingertips into Simon’s hips. 

Simon groans, ducking his head. "You're too much, Baz."

“Yep. You think I’m sexy.” I can’t seem to stop smiling. (Merlin, I'm so weak.) “And it’s too late, Snow, I’m already far too big for my boots. My cockiness peaked when I was, like, fourteen. I’m a lost cause. Ask anyone.”

Simon lifts his head, and then moves his hands to cup my face, thumbs framing his cheekbones, and his grip is so, so gentle. There are faint dark shadows underneath his eyes – there has been for weeks, now, because Simon doesn’t sleep much these days. He seems to be tired more often than he isn’t, these days, always dragging his limbs, shoulders hunched like a puppet with its strings cut. He’s a bit of a mess, honestly, but in a beautiful, tragic kind of way. (Trauma isn’t beautiful, but Simon Snow definitely is.) “You are a lost cause, Baz.” He tells me, just barely above a whisper. “Completely. So am I. We’re matching, yeah?”

“Yeah,” Baz agrees, softly. “Yeah, we are.”


End file.
